


The Sixth Bride

by Shen_Gong_Oops



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bluebeard meets the Most Dangerous Game, Canon Compliant Until Ontari's "Ascension", Fairy Tale Retellings, Marriage From Hell, Political Marriage, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shen_Gong_Oops/pseuds/Shen_Gong_Oops
Summary: For their wedding, Roan gifted him an antique skeleton key attached to a thin, leather cord. Rough, callous fingertips grazed the base of his neck as they secured the necklace in place.  While his husband allowed him full reign of the tower, the key provided access to the only room he barred Bellamy from entering. He was never to set foot in the sole room on the highest floor. Into Roan's private reprieve from the world.And to be fair, Bellamy respected Roan's right to privacy - for a while.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Roan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: Chopped Madness





	The Sixth Bride

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow this turned into a fusion of my favorite fairy tale _Bluebeard_ and my favorite short story _The Most Dangerous Game_.
> 
> For those of you who have never read either, strap in.

Bellamy Blake had been called many things in his life: a good person; a loving son; a nerd; a dick. And yes, he deserved that last one at the time. But a bride was never something he ever thought to associate with himself.

Upon the abrupt ending to the heda line following the disappearance of the last commander, Ontari, the Coalition shifted tentatively to be ruled by her surviving husband. Roan of Azgeda would sit atop the throne until a new Natblida could ascend or the missing heda returned. Fleimkepas combing from what remains of the midwest plains to the deserts of New England. They lessened the intensity of their search halfway through the year. Focusing on finding a new heda instead of hunting for a ghost. 

The day Ontari's disappearance had been announced to the public, Murphy ominously foretold the Fleimkepas wouldn't succeed. Two and a half years passed and Murphy's statement rang true. Acting regent Roan remained as head of the thirteen clans.

Roan wed another before the representatives of the thirteen clans eight months after his first wife disappeared. A huntress from Trikru. Then a healer from Sangedakru. A swordsman from Trishanakru. A farmer from Boudalan.

Each spouse vanished under the dark veil of night while their husband was away for political meetings. He heard rumors during their trips to Polis of what happened. How the healer had run off, unfit to handle a high-profiled marriage. How the farmer, a staunch supporter of the heda lineage, left within two months. Unable to stomach being the husband to a false king. Several individuals had seen the huntress leave for the hunt one morning well before the sun woke. The woman never to return home. Most presuming the beast bested her.

No one ever discussed what became of the swordsman. Most probably assumed he missed the heat of the forge, the feel of malleable metal morphing to his craft. But those were merely rumors. Nothing concrete explaining what happened to the lost brides.

He hadn't realized somewhere amidst the negotiations held in the cold, metal hulk of Arkadia and the formal Coalition meetings at the capital, the Azgedian king had selected a new bride. Baby blue eyes surveying Bellamy's every move. On more than one occasion, Roan ignored the summit discussions in favor of turning his full attention to Bellamy. 

Upon Roan's first attempts to "court" Bellamy, and he is the term loosely, his stomach churned. Five spouses disappeared in less than three years. Reasonably, he feared he'd be sixth. That one day he'd walk into the high tower in the middle of Polis and the next he would cease to exist. People speaking not of who he is but who he was. 

Courting... courting is an odd endeavor. Back on the Ark, he never had a relationship. Never anyone to bring home to meet his mother and the sixteen-year-old secret hidden under their floor. He went on a few first dates with kids in his courses and even less second dates. If he were being completely honest most of his "dates" consisted of two idiotic teenagers sneaking into an abandoned utility closet somewhere in Factory Station. But nothing serious - nothing had been serious until Gina.

What little he knew of courting and dating came from the few books he could get his hands on, or the rare free film they offered in the canteen. That also didn't take into consideration the cultural differences between a boy raised in the flying tin can and a boy raised on a destroyed planet. There had to be some differences in the way their societies wooed their intended; a gifted diadem made of animal bone being one of them. The glass flower seemed normal enough, but he had his suspicions that Clarke and Miller provided Roan with the idea. And for the Manet he looted from the ruins of Mount Weather.

Odd trinkets and tokens, walks about the palisade, corny flirting quips, a stack of letters penned by Roan sitting on Bellamy's desk - none had been responded to. Not out of callous disregard but because Bellamy had no idea what to write back. While the uneasiness never fully subsided, he entertained the idea that maybe Roan was just unlucky with love. A lonely man who had tried multiple times to find passion in a political union. Give the man an army to lead and he was golden. Give the man a spouse and he was clueless. 

The man worked closely alongside Kane and Arkadia's new Council. They appeared to trust him. Roan sent warriors and healers from Azgeda to each clan as a means to trade techniques. The Council urged Bellamy to reciprocate the fondness Roan expressed. For the future of Skaikru.

In contrast to the Council's reception of the king, Lincoln tiptoed around the Azgedians. Never trusting whomever the king sent them. The night Roan proposed to better Azgedian relations with Arkadia through marriage to Bellamy, he found Lincoln in their makeshift bar. Two fingers of whiskey lying untouched in the glass before him. His sister beside them wringing her hands.

 _It is a show of trust. But it is only a show._ Lincoln mumbled in Latin, tossing back his drink. Dark eye darting to the Azgedian spy standing in the corner unawares to their conversation. _The king is not your ally._

+++

For their wedding, Roan gifted him an antique skeleton key attached to a thin, leather cord. Rough, callous fingertips grazed the base of his neck as they secured the necklace in place. While his husband allowed him full reign of the tower, the key provided access to the only room he barred Bellamy from entering. He was never to set foot in the sole room on the highest floor. Into Roan's private reprieve from the world.

And to be fair, Bellamy respected Roan's right to privacy - for a while.

At first, he cautiously spent his days mapping out the twelve floors of his new abode. A drastic difference from their small apartment back on the Ark. That had barely been twelve feet wide. During his adventures he noticed the surplus in candles and members of the Ice Nation. He hadn't remembered the tower being packed like this the previous times he had been there, back when the Coalition was headed by a heda. However, Lexa hailed from Trikru while Ontari and Roan did not. The excess of Azgedian clansmen a precaution after securing a tentative peace. Roan fearing someone would challenge his throne, as Queen Nia had years prior.

But it left him unsettled.

Eyes rimmed with white and black paint constantly watching his every move. Bellamy often wondered if they reported his daily activities to Roan. Wouldn't be much to discuss: have breakfast with Roan in the banquet hall; sword training with a few guards; lunch down at the market in Polis or on the balcony in his chambers; Trigedasleng lessons; combat training; sit in on political delegations if held; radio calls to Arkadia; dinner with Roan in the banquet hall; and then he'd scavenge the small library the tower for something to read before bath and bed. Each day a repetition of the last.

Since he was the bride of a grounder king, advisors expected Bellamy to fight with a blade, not a gun. All automatic weapons had been removed from his person and turned over to Kane. All except his shock baton. They knew not of the electricity that pulsed through the device, believing it to be an ordinary rod.

Variance to his daily schedule came with Roan leaving for one of the clans. And variance wouldn't be the right word to use. He still trained in the mornings and the afternoons, still attended his lessons, still read the same few books repeatedly. The change in the form of time management. Breakfasts and dinners were shorter affairs, as he sat alone at the unnecessarily long table. Any excess time spent circling the floors. And when Roan traveled, he didn't have people poking and prodding at him as he bathed. Nor did he have to dress in the unbearably hot leathers and furs that made up Azgedian attire.

Each time he traveled, Roan reminded Bellamy not to venture into the room on the highest floor. He respected Bellamy's privacy therefore Bellamy should respect his. Said respect extended even when Roan was not on the premises. Bellamy adhered to Roan's request for seven months. Never stepping front on the twelfth floor let alone approaching the forbidden chamber. He didn't know what compelled him to ask what was inside the room. Maybe his curiosity surpassed his sensibility. Seven months of being forewarned not to enter into a specific room and a person's mind starts to wonder what lays beyond. Roan's cold shift in demeanor said it all.

"Nothing that concerns you." He snapped.

Yet here he stood in front of the oak door. Unlike the other floors, the hall was barren. No one rushing about, no one standing guard, no one watching him.

A good husband would stay out of his husband's business. And he was a good husband, at least he likes to think he is. A good husband wouldn't open the door.

But what was behind the door?

_Nothing that concerns you._

Grumbling, he marched back down the stairs to his chambers. If he wanted the peace to work he needed to be a good husband.

He stared at the key that hung tauntingly around his neck. With every passing day, he mused shucking the thing out the window. Rid himself of the temptation to open the door by ridding himself of his collar. Fingers trailing along the oxidized brass shaft. Tearing the key from the thin cord tied around his neck, Bellamy laid it on the table before him. He should chuck it out the window. Whether someone found the key or it lay untouched on the ground, he didn't care. Would a vendor buy it off him? They sold odd knick knacks in the market. Scavengers trying to unload useless garbage for three times their worth.

But what if there was something behind that door? 

Standing up from his desk, Bellamy took the stairs two steps at a time. The setting sun basking the barren hall in a warm golden glow. Broken panes allowing for the autumn breeze to filter through. Iridescent curtains fluttering about gently.

Forcing the key into the lock, Bellamy threw open the oak door unprepared for the darkness. The sole window had been boarded up. An onyx floor candelabra placed to the left of the door providing the only source of light. Gingerly, he removed one of the candles to aid in wandering about the room. There were three stone slabs placed on either side of the room, darkened shapes lay atop them draped in opalescent sheets. Nearing the first slab, the light from the candle allowed for Bellamy to make out what lay below. Ontari's face no longer shrouded in shadows. Her eyes closed in eternal sleep. The other brides laid to rest on four of the remaining slabs. The sixth slab empty sans the sheet folded neatly placed atop it.

Here would be the final resting place of Roan's sixth bride.

His stomach churned violently. Hand coming up to cover his mouth. Blue strangulation marks marred the porcelain neck of the healer. An arrowhead wedged into the chest of the huntress. Each one murdered by their husband. And if Roan had his way, Bellamy's cold lifeless body would occupy the last slab.

Retreating from the room and ensuring the lock had set, Bellamy raced back to his chambers. The curtain billowing about in the corner of his eyes. He needed to get out of here. Grabbing the radio from his desk, Bellamy frantically tried to contact someone at Arkadia. He'd take anyone.

"Blake?" Murphy responded. "Calm down, what's wrong?"

"They're here, they're all here. Ontari-" His words cut off as someone knocked on his door. Echo entered into his chambers without invitation. She stood near the door, blocking any possible escape.

"Blake, what-" Turning the knob he silenced the radio. Leaving him alone in the tower.

"Sorry, I was trying to get in contact with O. She's pregnant you know." He clipped the radio to his belt. "And me being the annoying big brother I am, I was hovering as best I could. You know how siblings are."

Dark, emotionless eyes bore into him. "Right, no sibling. Anything I can help you with?"

Could she hear how his heart pounded? He tried to even his breathing but she detected his panic, hadn't she?

Nodding her head towards the door, she silently told him to follow. The pair weaving through the empty halls coming to a stop before the large ornate doors of the throne room. The ever present guards absent from their post. Roan lounged in the throne, his right elbow propped up on the armrest. Why had no one informed him of his husband's return?

Echo gripped his shoulder, directing him to the center of the room. A long table separated Bellamy and Roan, various weapons strewn across the ripped tablecloth. 

"Pity, I thought you might be the one to last. But it appears I'm wrong." Roan tapped his finger against the small notch at the base of his neck. "You're missing something."

"It's in my room. The brass started irritating my skin." He crossed his arms at his chest, jaw clenching. "Have I done something?"

"I'm a simple man, I asked one thing of you though it seems you could not leave things be." Echo shifted to her king's side. It wasn't the curtains he saw while fleeing, it had been Echo retreating around a bend. "None of the others lasted as long as you had. Shame, I rather enjoyed our conversations and those weird myths you were always rambling about. Not too bad on the eyes either."

Languidly, Roan stretched out his legs. "Ontari had been a means to secure power. My mother controlled her for years, the child unable to rule on her own. She needed guidance, which I happily provided in exchange for this." He gesticulated around the room with his left hand. "The others to quell rebellions or strengthen alliances. But Skaikru, Skaikru is my crowning jewel. A means to topple the Coalition. To rid us of those damned representatives."

Echo sidestepped around the throne, broadsword in hand. "Choose your weapon." The woman extended the hilt of the sword to Roan, "You have until midnight before the guards resume their duties."

"If he lasts that long," Roan smirked, leaning back into his seat. "I like to think you'd make our personal Conclave interesting but who knows. You'd think a man well attained with a sword would fare far better than he did. And who'd believe that a person lacking proper combat training would make it the furthest? So really this is a toss-up."

Hadn't they seen the huntress wandering out into the woods? If she never left the tower, how were there reports of her disappearing during a hunt?

Echo.

"You're wasting time my love."

Grabbing the first weapon he could, Bellamy sprinted from the room. Double-sided battle axe heavy in his hands. The throne room was on the tenth floor. He just had to make it ten floors before Roan caught him and murdered the shit out of him. No big deal. Armed only with an axe and a radio. An axe he hadn't the faintest idea of how to aim.

He could do this.

Flinging open the door to the stairwell, he heard Roan calling out to him- taunting him. Halfway down the stairs, he jumped to the landing, ignoring the shock reverberating up his shins. Gripping the banister on the ninth floor, Bellamy swung himself around to begin his descent to the eighth floor. Each stairwell carried someone up/down two flights before forcing an individual to walk to the opposite side of the hallway for the next set of stairs. Mere feet from the door leading him to the sixth and seventh floors, a javelin struck the back of his thigh. Embedding itself into the muscle. A scream ripped from his lungs, hand braced against the wall.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

Reaching behind him, Bellamy tugged harshly at the weapon. The tip designed to inflict even more damage upon removal. He’d risk the pain and the complications if it meant he’d continue living. He could hear his sister and Clarke yelling at him to leave it be but he needed to keep going. His fist wrapped around the doorknob, pulling it just enough to allow him to slip through.

“And he continues!”

Blood seeping through his cargo pants causing the material to glue to the back of his thigh. His free hand applied pressure to the wound as he clambered down the steps. Nearly lost his balance twice during his descent.

Six more, six more, six more, he repeated in his head. Six more floors.

What happened to a happy wife, a happy life? Who knew the idiom was a happy wife, a happy murder. Reaching out his hand to grasp the banister, Bellamy dry heaved. He had lost a decent amount of blood, his head felt light. Looking down at the paling skin of his hand, Bellamy groaned. Too much blood. Stumbling across the grim covered carpet, he knocked over any piece of furniture he could. A floor candelabra, a small table, any. As the candelabra toppled to the ground, the lit candles ignited the carpet. The small blaze creating a barrier between the predator and the prey.

Roan chuckled, the blade of his sword scraping against the walls. “I wasn’t a fan of that carpet either.” Sidling past the flames, Roan advanced towards him.

Bellamy swung the axe in a horizontal arc with every step Roan took towards him. The other freezing just outside of Bellamy’s range of motion. He may not have pinpoint accuracy with regards to throwing an axe but swinging one? He could do that. Keep Roan far enough away from him that the sword would never pierce his skin. Roan smirked, lunging forward to strike but Bellamy parried. A fist colliding with Roan’s cheek. He readied a counterstrike, but Roan moved swiftly. Easily backing Bellamy into a corner, leaving no room to swing the ax. Lifting the axe above both their heads, Bellamy left himself open to any attack. Judging by the smirk on Roan's face he planned to exploit the opening. Instead, Bellamy rammed the butt of the axe into the other's temple breaking the skin. Using the momentary lapse, Bellamy resumed his escape.

Roan's breaking point was a bride making it to the fourth floor. "Enough games. Time to die." He snarled.

All two hundred some-odd pounds of the Azgedian king tackled him to the ground. The man gripping onto his curls, tugging his head back. "I'm done being nice."

"Couldn't tell."

Roan forced him to roll onto his back. He threw several punches but Bellamy created a brace with his forearms, defending his face from the onslaught. Feigning a punch, Roan leaned forward. Forearm pressing down against Bellamy's throat. Thrashing about, he tried to throw the weight from him. Legs kicking desperately. Leaning slightly to his left side, a hard object pressed uncomfortably into his calf. The small shock baton they so graciously allowed him to keep tuck away in one of the pockets. The heel of his right palm pushed against Roan's jaw. Trying to force the other to break his hold, while the other hand snuck into his pocket. Fingers enclosing around the cold metal. Swinging the weapon to the left for it to extend, he then swung it back to the right, the weapon finding purchase at the junction between Roan's neck and his shoulder. Electroshocks reverberating throughout his attacker's body.

Immediately, he struck a second time to the same spot.

Tossing his assailant to the side, Bellamy fingers extended out for the sword Roan abandoned. The tip slicing his middle finger. His middle and pointer fingers caging the blade. Swiftly dragging it towards him, Bellamy drove the blade forward as Roan attempted once more to grapple. Steel piercing skin.

Five of Roan's spouses met an untimely end, one outlived him.

When the Rover nearly drove straight through the front doors of the tower later that evening, curious Polis citizens tried to glean what was happening. Hordes swarmed outside the entrance, jumping up and down in vain attempts to see beyond the smudged windows. None anticipated the news that their king had fallen after attempting to murder his spouse. That the last resting place of their final heda lay right under the populace's nose, in the exact place you'd expect to find a Commander.

Echo tried to dispose of the bodies, but she could not find the key after scourging Bellamy's room. Too bad he lied to her about where he hid the wretched thing.

The last thing he remembered before his eyes shut was a tall, blurred figure at the end of the hall watching him. "I won," he said.

* * *

He woke in the bed of the Rover, a shock blanket draped across him and an intravenous line attached to his forearm. Clarke placed her suture kit to the side, wrapping a large bandage around the wound. He tried to sit up but a small hand pressed firmly against his chest, his sister forcing him back down.

“Next time someone asks me to marry them, I’m saying no.”

“What if it’s one of us?” Miller asked.

“Fuck no, you’re definitely a serial killer too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m actually a huge Roan fan, even if this doesn’t seem like it! I needed someone of wealth/standing to be the villain and Roan fit that bill.
> 
> According to Grammarly, I write like a seventh grader so woo woo.


End file.
